Faulty animatronics
by King Domino III
Summary: Twelve year old Mike Schmidt's parents despise each other, and his drunken mom, who he lives with, is no better than his dad with a gambling addiction. He tries to live outside of the house, but in his small town, all he can do is go to Freddy's. (T for swearing and adult themes. [Attempted murder, blood, murder, gory-ness]) (One-shot) (For now)
1. Chapter 1

**A short one-shot. If you wish for me to continue, I might.**

**I don't own FNAF.**

**YEAR: 1988**

**MIKE'S POV**

I watch the animatronics closely. There seems to be something odd about them.

Lately they've been acting strange. They smell putrid. They stutter.

I used to love this place. Now I come to escape from my life. My parents just divorced, and stale pizza makes things better. Somehow.

Anyway, it's a weekend. Which means I try to get out as early as possible. I come 8:00 sharp, opening time.

"H-He-llo -**fresh meat- **k-kids." Freddy stutters.

"W-well-co-come to -**Hell- **Fre-eddy F-fazbe-bear's pizza!"

"I-I'd l-love to -**kill- **p-play w-with y-you!"

Something is clearly wrong. He's acting like some sort of psycho.

Then Chica speaks up.

"H-hi! -**Saveme- **I-I'm C-Chica! W-Would you l-like s-s-some **-people- **p-p-pizza?"

"D-don't f-forget t-to eat y-your **-bloody- **g-green v-veg-g-t-tab-b-les k-kids"

I start to back out the door. This is worse than home. I'd rather be with my drunken mother.

A purple-gloved hand stops me.

"Leaving so soon?" he whispers in my ear.

He drags me backstage and looks at a chart on the wall. It was filled with crossed-off pictures of the animatronics.

All except one.

A golden version of Freddy.

"Ah, tsk tsk. Playtime's over, isn't it? Too bad. I hope you'll have fun in your new body." he says while pulling out a knife with a jagged edge.

I try turning the doorknob but it's locked. He backs me into a corner.

"Y-you don't have to do this." I say with bated breath.

He seems to hesitate.

Then he lunges and I sidestep. I make up my mind to go down fighting and grab one of Foxy's old replacement hooks.

I duel him knifepoint to blunt hook. I have no experience whatsoever, but he seems to not have any either.

"Coward!" I shout.

"You kill defenseless kids! You monster!" I yell at him.

I throw dirty words at him that would be sure to get my mouth washed out with soap. He mocks hurt.

I'm tiring. He appears to not be. I haven't scored one hit.

All I have is one last trick.

I let out a piercing New York taxicab whistle that is only possible to resist if you can make it. Down here in Dallas, there's no point in having a whistle. But I grew up in the Big Apple.

He doubles over from shock and pain and I punch him across the nose. Hard.

While he's weakened I grab his knife from him and make a long slash across his chest. I kick him in the direction of the suit he was intent to stuff me into and prop up the suit.

My music that keeps me entertained is screaming as I do to him what he would have done to me.

When I'm finished, I smear the blood from my hands onto my shirt and find a paperclip. I find one in a ton of dusty boxes filled with newspaper clippings. I jiggle the clip in the lock and the door pops open. It's closing time, 11:00, and no one is in the building.

I try the door.

Locked.

My only choice is to wander around. I feel safest in the security office, with its small space and powerful doors.

I wait around for awhile until I hear the bells for 12:00. A man walks into the office and his jaw drops.

"Who are you?" he asks.

I shake his hand. "Mike Schmidt. Looks like we're serving the shift together, buddy."

He sits down in the rolling chair. "Call me phone guy." he says.

**Okay guys!**

**First attempt at writing a one-shot. Hope you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Continued, as you guys wish.**

_9 years later..._

Mike was now a junior in college and majoring in genome science. He wasn't really well off, owning a small, dirty apartment and using almost all his money for classes.

His mother had died last winter from a poisoned liver, due to too much alcohol. His father was dirt poor, due to gambling away almost everything. Mike didn't have enough money to help the latter, but had pulled together enough to cremate the former.

He was currently looking in the paper for a job. He had lost his at McDonald's because of the recent minimum wage increase.

That's when he saw the add.

**FREDDY FAZBEAR'S PIZZA  
>Family pizzeria looking for security guard to work the nightshift. 12 am to 6 am.<strong>

**Monitor cameras, ensure safety of equipment and animatronic characters.**

**Not responsible for injury/dismemberment.**

**$120 a week.**

**To apply call:**

**1-888-FAZ-FAZBEAR**

Oh, no, no, no. He was not going back to that hellhole.

He dialed the number.

* * *

><p>He walked into the place, and bumped straight into the guard he knew as "Phone guy".<p>

Apparently, he was just working every other night. PG would be taking the ones he didn't take.

PG helped Mike up. When he saw who Mike was, his eyes lit up.

"Hey, Mikey! What brings ya here?"

Mike shrugged. "Got a job here."

PG rubbed his chin. "Be sure to listen to my call. Good advice."

Mike playfully punched PG in the shoulder. "I already know the works! Don't even bother."

Phone guy looked at Mike with sad eyes.

"Just be careful. For me?"

Mike knew this was a parenting cheat on PG's part, his own mentor who he had grown to love over the years.

"Okay."

A fistbump was exchanged and Mike walked back to the office. PG glanced over his shoulder, and was going to wish him luck, but Mike was already gone.


End file.
